- November 23, 2024
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We, the cast of Romeo and Juliet, had not had a single full rehearsal in the Palm Coast Arts Foundation's tent before the wind blew and cracked it cheeks the afternoon of Feb. 22, sending the top of the tent -- and our hopes for a Shakespeare in the Park production that actually takes place somewhere resembling a park -- tumbling to the ground in Town Center. So the blocking (where to move onstage and when) we had been practicing indoors for weeks at City Repertory Theatre, heeding the telltale lines of blue tape indicating where the set would drop off in foot-tall tiers, was out the window. We were in Flatland.
But if a bare, flat stage was good enough for Shakespeare, it's good enough for us. One platform, that's it. John Sbordone has challenged us to engage the audience's imagination with our staging as much as our author did with words -- leaning on the power of allusion as much as illustration -- and we have accepted the challenge.
Much as I'll miss the staging we had planned, I won't miss the steps: onstage without my glasses (the glare from the lights would conceal my eyes from the audience, I've been repeatedly told), I would have been prime to join the tragedy's ample body count.
I already do, technically: one of my two characters is the doomed Paris, the nobleman engaged to Juliet. The other is Prince Escalus of Verona, whose witness of the former character's dead body led to some inventive cutting of lines in the final scene. Finding the differences between these two men -- one a carefree young gentleman smitten with his bride-to-be, the other a stern, authoritative monarch struggling to mediate an intractable blood feud -- has been the greater part of my effort. I'm less seasoned than some of the youngest cast members, high schoolers with more onstage acting credits to their names than my two, so naturally I feel like a dilettante here. Among such veterans as Earl Levine, Anne Kraft, Walker Fischer and Victoria Page and such fierce, focused young talents as Beau Wade, Gaston King, Bruce Popielarski and our titular pair played by Brent Jordan and Lillie Thomas, even a more seasoned man would.
But they're a warm and welcoming bunch backstage, and witty and wise as well (sorry -- prolonged exposure to Shakespeare makes one apt to indulge in alliteration, metonymy and rude puns). There are no outsiders here, even if you're playing one. No wonder I, someone preoccupied with facts and the rhythms of everyday language, can find such a sanctuary in the realms of poetry and high drama. It's great to watch, but even better to bring to life.
